[story] the path to companionship
author: kohane (smallfeathers)



There is a place made of steel and grey like the sky before a rain storm. It holds there, perpetually at the edge of something but never crossing the border, like the feeling in your throat before you cry. It is a tired place, and although it waits, it no longer remembers what it is waiting for.

On the borders of this place, poisonous flowers are grown. They are meant to remind everyone that while leaving may seem alluring at times, it is dangerous and deadly to do so.

The blue woman thinks they make the outside look even more alluring, but she cannot bring herself to leave. It may be tiring and grey, but at least it is safe.

She is called ‘the blue woman’ teasingly because of her eyes. They are a shade of blue close enough to grey that most would not pay attention. But in a place of no color, she is different and strange. When she dances just a step, or sings just a note, others shake their heads and say that it must be because of her blue eyes.

But the blue woman looks in a mirror, and stares into her reflection's eyes, and they smile at one another.

Over time, a step and a note are not enough, and she begins to dance a bit more and sing a whole verse. The place likes to think it does not have dances or songs, but these things are impossible to eradicate. They lurk in the back of the mind and body, waiting to spring forth. This is not what they are waiting for, but the others recognize it all the same and take the blue woman before the elder.

He looks at her closely and says, "You are just like us, but you are closer to the end of waiting. The blue in your eyes are tears waiting to spring forth. Cry, and you will be grey again and can wait with the rest of us once more."

The blue woman nods seriously and says that she will, that she would like some privacy to cry, because it is a strange thing and must be done privately.

They leave the room, and she runs.

Out, out, out of the place, past the flowers which are just barely not grey, like her eyes. Running until she reaches the sunset and a field of flowers the same color, where a brown doe and its tan fawn nibble delicately at a green plant. She is so happy that she almost cries from it, but she does not, because the only thing scarier than leaving safety is the thought that she might become grey.




There is a cat that searches for his boy.

This cat has a name, given to him at birth, but he will not tell you it. Cats know best of all that names have power, and by refusing to give theirs to you, they become better than you.

But if he were to give his name to anyone, it would be his boy. He loves his boy as much as any cat can love a human, and perhaps even more. The boy stroked him when he wished to be stroked, played with him when he wished to play, and slept with him at night to give him warmth and comfort.

All was happy, for a time.

Until the day when the cat walks through a door and finds himself in a room that he has never seen before. He tries to go back through the door, but the next room is unfamiliar as well. With a feeling of dread, he realizes he is no longer in the home of his boy. Doors can lead to many places, as all cats well know, and when he was not paying attention, the cat accidentally walked into the wrong one.

Most cats do not care when this sort of thing happens. They are curious and love to look at new things, and assume that there will be food and a warm place to sleep when they need it. But although the cat wants food and a warm place, he wants his boy even more, and a specific boy is a great deal harder to find.

The cat continues through many rooms, seeking an exit. In one room is something that looks like a human girl, and it tosses the cat a sword.

You may think that cats cannot pick up swords, that the very idea is laughable. I am not quite so sure, but in any case, the cat does not pick it up. He only gives the thing that looks like a girl a very disapproving look, which, as you may well know, cats are excellent at.

She flinches under the look, but says as she holds a sword of her own, "Fight me."

The cat does not answer. He walks towards her, ignoring her words.

"Fight me!" she says desperately. "Please! Fight me!" And finally, "Kill me!"

The cat stops just in front of her and says, as if he is not quite sure why he's even bothering to speak, "Cats know the weight of lives. If you want to end yours, you must have the strength of mind to do it yourself."

He walks through her, and the thing that looks like a girl disappears, her sword clattering as it falls to the floor.

He walks and walks, knowing the entire time that he will eventually reach his boy, although he does not know how long it will take. There are a finite number of doors, and eventually, he will find the right one.

At some point, the cat walks through a door that leads to the outside. There is a garden, small and fragrant and surrounded by a very high wall, and a woman who is smelling a rose. He thinks that her eyes seem bluer when she inhales the scent, and the woman smiles at him. "Hello, sir cat. Are you going somewhere?"

"I am walking through doors," which is a way of saying yes that does not name a destination or an origin, just the journey. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes. No. Maybe." She looks up at the sky, which is reflected in her eyes. "I am at the end of waiting and the beginning of something new, I think."

She smiles once more at the cat, then turns to the wall. "I've come to discover that walls are meant for getting past," she says. "So I came past this one and found these flowers. But I think I'd like to move on again, and so I will leave." She pauses, then says carefully, "If I travel away from this place and look around, and happen to see you nearby, it would be something. To look around and not see you would be another thing not quite as enjoyable."

To the woman who can speak to cats and knows their roundabout method of invitation, the cat says nothing.

But when she got past the wall again and walked down the road, she looked around and saw the cat, and the company was enjoyable.




There is a man who did something cruel to a witch, whom he loved. The witch loved him as well but could not bear this cruel thing, and the man felt sorrow for what he had done. Because of it, the witch took his heart from him and left.

You may not understand my full meaning. After all, broken hearts occur all the time and people eventually heal. But this is a land not like yours, and his heart was not broken, but gone entirely. Something cannot grow from nothing, and so the man continued his life without the ability to love, or even to hate, which is something very similar but not quite the same.

He has always been a businessman, but now he is ruthless, and if he is less liked than before, then at least he is respected and feared now. He makes huge amounts of money, but as they say, money cannot buy the ability to love, and so he does not care. He takes no satisfaction from his work, no shred of happiness. He does it because it is something to do.

A day comes when a woman with blue eyes and a cat walk into his office. "What do you want?" the man asks.

"We came across a woman in the road," the blue-eyed woman said. "She was kneeling in the dust and staring off as if there was nothing in front of her. 'Hello,' I said to her. 'Why have you become like this?'

"'I did something to a witch, something I felt no shame for,' she told us. 'And because of it, she took my heart from me and left.'

"Next, we came across a man, kneeling in the dust as well and staring just as the woman had been. 'Hello,' I said to him. 'Why have you become like this?'

"'There was something wrong with me,' he told us. 'And because of it, a witch took my heart from me and left.'

"Finally, we came to the witch herself, who was kneeling in the dust as well, but crying, which the others could no longer do. 'Hello,' I said to her. 'Why have you become like this?'

"'I have three hearts too many,' she sobbed. 'But I did it for a good reason, and so I will keep them, though it hurts me to do so.'

"'The hearts are not yours to have,' the cat said. 'They are a strain and burden on your life that do not belong there.' And this is likely true, for cats have nine lives and thus know much about them.

"We took the hearts from her, even as she protested, and though they seemed light enough at first, they grew heavier as we walked back down the patch we had just travelled.

"When we gave the man back his heart, he cried, 'Oh! I remember that the witch was beautiful and lovely and pure, but I could not love her. And I felt that this must have indicated something that is wrong with me, and so she took my heart to grant me a reprieve from my sorrow. Please, take my heart from me again.'

"'No,' said the cat, 'for your heart is your own burden to bear, and no one else's.' And so we continued on.

"We came upon the woman next, and gave her back her heart. 'Oh!' she said. 'I remember that I loved the witch, and the way I show my love for things is to hurt them. But this saddened her but did not sadden me, and she took my heart.' The woman stood up and walked back down the path towards the witch, and so we continued on.

"And now we have come here," she continues, "and we will give you back your heart."

The man shakes his head. "I do not want it," he says. "For I did something cruel and having my heart back will only lead to its breaking."

There is a pause, and the blue-eyed woman says, "You cannot seem to hear the cat, which is not at all surprising. I will translate for you. He says, 'Your heart is your own burden to bear, and no one else's.'"

She gives him back his heart, and her eyes are bluer than ever.




The blue-eyed woman and the cat enjoy each other's company for quite some time, through dancing princesses and suicidal computers, through well-intentioned spells and wizards with questionable morals. The more they travel together, the more the woman becomes fond of the cat. And although the cat says nothing on that subject, she thinks that it might be somewhat fond of her as well.

The time comes that their journey ends, as all journeys eventually do.

"This house!" the cat breathes, and runs towards a blue house that is not too far away. It is old, but well-cared for, and carries a satisfied aura that comes from being loved. The cat mews pitifully at the front door and scratches at it lightly while saying urgently to the blue-eyed woman, "Knock, hurry!"

She does so, and after a few moments, the door opens. A young man is standing there, and the cat tries to climb up him in order to crawl into his arms. ("Little more grace than a jumpy dog," the blue-eyed woman murmurs, and the cat ignores her.) The young man lets out a startled yelp, then laughs and picks the cat up.

"I'm sorry," the young man says to the woman. "Your cat just reminds me of a cat I used to have. He ran away about ten years ago."

"He did not run away," the woman informs him. "He merely got a bit lost. He's returned to you now, and I must be going."

"What? But that's... that's impossible!" the young man protests even as his arms tighten around the cat.

"Improbable, perhaps. Excuse me," the woman says, hurrying away. The young man makes no effort to chase after her, which is good. She is closer to crying than she ever has been.

Days later, as the blue-eyed woman visits the kingdom where a princess has recently danced to her death than go through with an arranged marriage, she looks up to see that the cat is sitting on a bookshelf and calmly cleaning himself.

"Why...?"

"If you must know," the cat says, his tone implying that she is being a terrible inconvenience, "my boy seems to have done well enough without me, while I am not at all sure that you will fare so well without my highly enjoyable company."

The time comes that their journey ends, but that time is not now.




Epilogue.

There is a prickly person, and this person thinks it will never find love. This person's parent has tried to give it love, still tries, but when someone pricks you when you get near, when there are tiny scars and dots of blood from failed attempts, you are likely to give up.

This person is shunned by its siblings, ignored and sometimes harassed from afar. When schoolmates tease this person, its siblings will only shrug and say, "None of my business." Because no one comes near enough on a regular basis to blunt this person's prickly needles, this person becomes sharper and colder all the time.

In university, the prickly person falls in love. The prickly person is not unattractive in certain ways, although the prickly business is certainly off-putting, and so this person's love tries to return the love and stay close. The love wears layers of clothing, and all is well, for a while. But it is difficult when two people cannot be close, and several times, the love has forgotten the layers of clothing and been badly hurt. Finally, unable to bear it, the love leaves, and the prickly person is left alone again.

This person wanders the streets, facing the difficulty of having a heart and wanting to use it, but finding nowhere to do so. The person walks, and walks, and walks, away from the others who remind the person that it is not wanted, walks until there are no others.

No one is meant for a solitary life, and the prickly person eventually comes across a blue-eyed woman and what the person believes is her cat.

"No," she says. "Cats belong to themselves and no one else. If you remember that, they will not ignore you quite so much."

The prickly person tries to pet the cat, gently and carefully, and somehow manages to not hurt it. The cat purrs. "Would you like to travel with us?" the blue-eyed woman asks.

"I would," the prickly person answers, "but I must walk alone. I am prickly by nature, and anyone who comes close is hurt by me. I do not wish this on you."

"That is a risk I take with anyone I get to know," says the woman, "and I would still like for you to travel with us."

"I will leave you whenever you ask it of me," the prickly person vows, "but until then, it would please me greatly to travel with you and this cat."

"Then it pleases me as well," says the blue-eyed woman, and the cat's purring grows louder.

the end